I'm not quite sure what possessed you to click through to this and start reading. I, the author, haven't really promised to give you a present, something pretty like a bunch of parentheses. But what the hell, I'm feeling generous. I'll let you have some anyway ))))))8((((((.
No, it was more likely the desire for some easy tittilation - this does have an arresting title. I suspect you were hoping for something a little fun, a little exotic, nothing too offensive. Maybe you were thinking of the wrinkled, formaldehyde preserved heads and brains you see in Karloff's Frankenstein and Larson's Far Side cartoons. Some mad-scientist type chique. We can all get a kick and a giggle out of retro-horror movies.
But then again, maybe not. It's the "steel spike" that's a little too strong for that, and the plural qualifier for the human head. You surely clicked with the expectation of something slightly more gruesome. You like Sam Raimi's Evil Dead? MGM's Tom and Jerry? Yeah, you've acclimatised yourself to some pretty serious slapstick in the service of entertainment. In this age we'd anticipate a little more detail on our decapitated appendages than that. A little blood on the chin and lips, a fly mopping up the moisture from a weeping eye, some putresence inflating the flesh beneath the skin. And how many human heads are we talking about here? A nice substantial pile, yes? The ones at the bottom are surely going to be a little more ripe than those at the top.
But you see, this is where I start telling you the truth. There never were any human heads. Not one. It was just a title to suck you in. The remains on that spike aren't manly criminals, or vanquished foes of a conquering army. This isn't Gengis Khan's hordes raping and pillaging their way through a dusty middle-ages wasteland. No, that iron rod is lacing through an entirely different species to us.
That spike is stacked high with kittens. Black ones, tabby ones, ginger ones with little pale paws. You can fit a hell of a lot of kittens on a spike that only takes a few heads. And they don't necessarily need preparation before you start threading them on, they can even be alive.
The ones at the bottom, they're not much of a problem... So much blood has seeped down the pile that their fur is matted and black. There are no sweet little downy fluffed, eyes closed, kitten faces at this end. Further up the pile tho, those kittens are more likely to be recognisable. And we're talking about a very serious pile of kittens. See that one five down from the top with the white crest like a mohawk running down its head? See that poor little kitten's scream, preserved in its face, from when it was run through by the iron rod? That little furball is going to scream forever, in this text.
You're a sick fuck, you know that?